


Complete

by bamboozledbylife



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: A personal favorite if I'm being quite honest, Backstory, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 07:59:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15214643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamboozledbylife/pseuds/bamboozledbylife
Summary: "What would you do if I kissed you?"A fine question. Completely unanswerable, but a fine one nonetheless. He wouldn't know until Hisoka did it. Would he do it? Would he dare?An exploration of Hisoka and Illumi's relationship, from the tumultuous beginning, to an unlikely present.





	Complete

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago, and while I wasn't going to post it but people liked it on tumblr, so here it is. Feel free to come talk to me on tumblr, bamboozledbylife!

A boy with a man’s job. A job so much older than he. Older than he’d ever be, than anyone ever was. It took and it took- from him, from them. Client, target, killer alike. Death did not discriminate. Neither did he.

Hisoka was there when the man dropped dead, he’d meant to be. Some mid-tier management, proud of his wealth, of his means, of his depravity, had bragged. Told the world and then some. An assassination, a hit, on who other than his old boss? 

So Hisoka stalked the man, the target, day, night, everything in between. He’d watched him die. 

Why?

A personal grudge, a misplaced vendetta? 

He was a kid, not a revolutionary. He just wanted to see a professional’s work.

He caught a glimpse of her(him), with the long, pretty, hair. She’d(he’d) been fast. _Very fast_. He was enraptured, infatuated, obsessed. By the time he got his name he realized his mistake.

Illumi was a _boy_ , with long, pretty, hair. With delicate features and impeccable manners. With devastating power and lethal efficiency. With a job beyond most grown adults.

Hisoka was just a kid with his first crush. With power and skill aplenty(of course), but more importantly than that: a crush.

He found him every time, after every kill. Hisoka became a constant. A nuisance, if you asked Illumi. No one asked.

Months ticked by, bit by bit, day by day, and they spoke. A little more each time. Hisoka insisted on every word, every syllable. He celebrated the sentences, his own small victories.

Illumi didn’t speak much. He didn’t speak to his brother, his parents, his grandparents. He wasn’t sure he was supposed to. But this boy, this kid, he wouldn’t leave without it. Without the small talk, the polite conversation, he’d tag along for hours. So they spoke of anything, of nothing.

Hours slip by quickly, and small talk only lasts for so long. Hisoka kept a list, pristinely detailed, methodically recorded, religiously updated. Everything he knew about Illumi. It was real, but not physical, irreplaceable, irreproducible. 

It was almost empty.

Dreadfully so.  
Unbearablely so.

Sometimes Hisoka threw out a line, a falsity. Something sad and personal about his(someone else’s) life. Something tragic that had affected(absolutely no one) him. Illumi never bit. He did the opposite, in fact. He’d leave.

So Hisoka gave him a truth. A silly story. Untraceable, indistinct. A story that could’ve belonged to anyone, but instead, it belonged to him.   
A story about the grossest, slimiest toad he'd ever seen. How he’d tried to grab it, how it’d hit him in the face. The gross splat it made. The ooze on his face.

Illumi didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile. He seemed amused, if you could call it that. Hisoka could. Hisoka did.   
Illumi told him of his youngest brother. A baby, barely weaned. He had a few brothers (fewer than he thought, his sister didn’t speak yet. Couldn’t tell him a truth he didn’t want to hear). Only one was near his age. Milluki liked video games. Loved video games. Would neglect his duties for them. _Disgusting, isn’t it?_  
Hisoka wasn’t sure about that last part. He nodded, smiled, agreed. He didn’t have brothers. Didn’t have obligations. Didn’t know anything about them. If Illumi thought it disgusting, maybe it was.

As months bled into years their conversations evolved into silences. A polite discussion, followed by a comfortable silence. A silence without tension. Without strife. Without expectations. Physical proximity and the facade of emotional distance. The safety of apathy. The embrace of quiet disinterest.

Hisoka sprang the question on him one day:  
"Have you ever been kissed?"

Obviously not(true). He didn’t have time(true). He didn’t want to(false). 

"What would you do if I kissed you?"

A fine question. Completely unanswerable, but a fine one nonetheless. He wouldn't know until Hisoka did it. Would he do it? Would he dare?

Their first kiss was quick, chaste.

Hisoka was an expert in this. Sometimes he wished he wasn't.  
Illumi was not. Didn't want to be. Could barely return a kiss.

Illumi would leave after, wouldn’t say anything. He’d start walking and not stop till he got back home. Fingertips pressed intermittently to his own mouth, remembering Hisoka’s. 

Hisoka wants to know more, so he tells more. A story about a girl he used to know. She used to play as a knight. She would click her tongue to simulate a noble steed. She insisted he be her squire. He was forced to carry her things all day. That was it.

The smile on Illumi’s face is noticeable. A small curve to his lips, a lightness in his eyes. The idea of little Hisoka, running after his friend all day.   
He tells of his brother’s first kill. An easy target, an old man. He’d done so well. Better than Illumi had when he was his age. He was so proud of him. They all were.

What is _better. Cleaner? Quicker?_

A curt nod. Yes to all three. Killua hadn't even cried, not at all.

_Did you cry, your first job?_

He was young, inexperienced. The first time is always the hardest. Always the worst. It wasn’t embarrassing to remember. It wasn’t a failure lorded over his head. (It was both). 

He just didn’t want to talk about it, wouldn’t give Hisoka the satisfaction.

The first time they had sex wasn’t memorable. It could’ve happened anywhere, at anytime. Random and forgettable. Awkward and fast. They don’t think about it. Not during, not after. Hisoka was his first kiss a lifetime ago. He isn’t his first fuck. 

It’s not a next step. It isn’t movement or momentum. It should be a bridge, a continuation. It isn’t stagnation. But it isn’t more either. A new facet to their relationship, a natural continuation that somehow come full circle. Three left turns. 

Hisoka feels insatiable. Every inch forward makes him crave ten more. Illumi is honest, but not forthcoming. Open yet reserved. Contradictory in every way.  
 So Hisoka trusts him with more. A story about a cloudy lake. A stormy day. Smoke in his eyes and blood in his mouth. A secret he had intended to take to his grave. His first taste of death. His first taste of loss. 

Just as he’d hoped, Illumi responds in kind.   
Holding Killua’s hands when he was struggling to walk. He could barely stand on his own, not even a toddler. Illumi had walked on his knees, delicate hands steadying the pudgy infant. His father had scolded, no, corrected him. He was coddling his brother. He would be weak like that. Worthless, useless. Ruined. 

_Let him struggle, let him suffer._  
_Love him from afar._  
_Teach through pain. Resilience is the most valuable skill. The most vital._  
_He'll thank us when he's older._  
_You will too._

It had made him sad then. It made him sad now. He wasn’t sure why. He was worried he’d ruined him, perhaps. Worried he’d be useless. Guilty for his failure, his shortcomings.

 Hisoka was sure he was wrong. Maybe he had been coddling him. But that wasn’t why he was sad. Call it a hunch.  
He didn’t leave. He stayed, there, with him. With Illumi and his sad story. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t entertaining. _He really should be leaving. He left the oven on._ But he stayed. He didn’t comfort him, he couldn’t have if he wanted to. Illumi wouldn’t have accepted it. 

They both accept the silence. The stillness. The mutual confusion that morphs into understanding. 

Hisoka wouldn’t call it love. He wasn’t in love with him. He did love him, a little. Sometimes. When he brushed his hair behind his ear. When he tilted his head. When he said Hisoka’s name, exasperated. When he laid in Hisoka’s bed, after, during, before. Maybe he loved him (a little, sometimes) often enough that he could call it “in love.” He’d rather not say it, if he didn’t have to.  
But he’d like to know if Illumi felt the same way. For curiosity’s sake.

He couldn’t ask Illumi if he loved him. He’d reject the word on principle. Illumi didn’t know love, not really. Hisoka was certainly no expert. So instead of asking him, _do you love me?_ He asked him, simply:

“What do you feel when we spend time together?”

And Illumi considered it. He didn’t want, he didn’t need, he didn’t fear. But Hisoka wanted to know what he felt, not what he didn’t. So he answered, simply:

“Complete.” 

Hisoka short-fired, he broke. He grimaced, scowled. _This idiot. This fool. This goddamn moron._

“You don’t know what you just said to me.”  
The words drip bitter.

And Illumi laughs, for the first time in a long time. The first time Hisoka’s ever heard. It’s short and it’s sweet. Wrong on someone like him. Right for right now. Right for right here.

All of a sudden there’s a touch, a kiss. Warm and inviting, safe, secure. A reassurance, if either knew the word.  
Illumi kisses him breathless and then pulls back, content. Young for the first time in his life. The words fall like a promise, a vow, a tease.

“Don’t I?”


End file.
